Raffi Wartanian: The Worst Poem In The History Of Poems ("Give yourself some credit," they demanded.)

Dear Reader,


I am going to write
The worst poem you have ever read.


As you read it,
Flashes of kindness and generosity
Inside you
Will seek meaning and art and substance
In my ill-conceived and sometimes (let’s not kid ourselves…ALWAYS) arbitrary words;


But soon,
The meaning of words and images
Will stack so high
They’ll become incoherent
For the sake of being artful.


This is when your eyeballs
Rocket out of your face
To shout into your mouth
In a language that
…tastes…
like the
…juices…
of a senile
…hippo’s…
acrid urine;


…


And you’ll have to perceive it all
Through your sense of hearing, damn it,
Since you’ve now learned, can’t flab it,
That your eyes have a
…mind (whoah!)…
of their own,
And, baby,
It’s not your mind
Clinging to visionspheres
With the optic nerves you might mistake for
An umbilical chord (gross!);


No, it’s the eye’s mind.
(Not the mind’s eye, you hippy space cadet freakFace with your inflatable four foot hammer that squeaks on contact and draws glances of distant Bedouins)
- Alarming Klebsielaesque Adrenals –
The little brain enjoying rod and cone massages
To best generate
Proclamations
In a purely unique language
With a purely unique alphabet
That, anglicized, says,
“Ali Pap Sukapindi,
Dep Defersechok,
Yabamba Yabamba.”


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This is Raffi Wartanian’s biographical blurb. It’s about himself, written in the third person because writing it in the first is both pretentious and unconventional. He’ll stick with tradition on this one. Raffi studied writing with people and traveled places. He has a unique background, like everyone else. He includes this blurb to be professional. Most importantly, he loves you.